I have to second what the G said below. It was one of those weekends that seemed nice enough until someone asks you about it and it all falls apart. The car breaks down in the middle of the busiest part of VA, AAA says it will take 30 minutes but it takes 3 hours. And the repairs are well over a grand.

Then I got a $200 ticket for parking in a handicapped spot in front of my house that doesn’t exist. I mean the handicapped spot doesn’t exist, the house does.

I know this because the dishwasher has started leaking water. But that’s not too big of a deal because we only do dishes once a month. We’re like that children’s story where the guy just buys new dishes instead of cleaning the dirty ones. Or maybe we’re like that story where the magic pasta floods the whole villa.

Now the sink is backed up and when I took the trap off to see were the clog was about 5 gallons of nasty garbage disposal water shot into the kitchen and into my shoes and pants. 30 seconds later, the neighbor calls and says that we have a shared pipe so the free condo association plumber is coming to look at it but can’t show up until Saturday. But first thing Saturday so at least it’s a 7am inconvenience. And you can’t run the broken dishwasher anyway so feel free to clean them in the shower.

Monday, October 29, 2007

there are three different kinds of chili in our fridge/freezer right now. related: our sink is busted and isn't draining, and so there are dirty chili dishes all over the place that I will have to wash in the bathtub tonight.

not related, my car has 12k worth of repairs needed after a massive blowup in bailey's crossroads on sat. afternoon.

Friday, October 26, 2007

The G loved the Death Feast poster for the crazy-assed typeface. I liked because it gave me a new challenge outside of photoshopping Chuck Brown karate-chopping Duke Ellington in the throat. Is it possible to decipher every name?

Two challenges:

First, these bands deliberately make their logos hard to read. There needs to be some mystery involved. There needs to be a sinister, parent-worrying, possible Satan worshipping, goat blood drinking, maggot bloated corpse edge to it. And they also seem to want to out do each other. Look at the far left on the top row. The band’s name is Foetopsy. But it looks like they spelled it using shaving gel on a filthy bathroom floor.

Secondly, staring at this red poster for an hour made my eyes go crazy. I’ve been to one of those Flophouse parties where they change all the light bulbs to red and your rods and cones get screwed up for a few days and when you drive home everything looks green. This was worse.

So without further ado, the list goes from right to left. Links to Myspace are included so you should probably turn the volume down. My grindcore ear isn’t as sophisticated as it was in high school but the songs sound exactly the same as they did back then. And they still sound exactly the same to each other.

Someone explain Division Day to me. I have exactly three songs by them downloaded: a cover of SDRE, a cover of Roxy Music, and a cover of Depeche Mode. I'm not investing in Beartrap Island until the Internet tells me they aren't just a cover-band-with-an-indie-twist I can see at Clarendon Grill on Friday night happy hours.

Thursday, October 25, 2007

I grew up within venial sinning distance of a certain Arlington Catholic high school that receives most of the county’s proudest delinquents after they’ve been permanently excused from the fine public schools. Among other un-pleasantries, it meant we could never have pumpkins on our front stoop until the fully-carved finality appeared on Halloween night. Any appearance prior to October 31st would result in a kicked-in pumpkin and its seedy brains scattered in the road. It was a neighborhood-wide issue. There were meetings.

In the end, my parents decided that it was just easier to not have pumpkins until the very last minute. When they showed up destroyed on Nov 1, at least they died with only a single day's worth of sentiment.

It was not until I got all grow’d up and moved into a semi-respectable and high school free neighborhood that I found out that there are other forces conspiring against wee pumpkins. For the first few day’s I couldn’t noodle out why bits of my poor gourd were disappearing into the Negative Zone. Then I caught those squirrel bastards red handed.

This idea was news to me but it seems like Que Sera, Sera. Squirrels eat pumpkins, what are you gonna do? I mean besides covering them with cayenne pepper or spraying them with hairspray*.

What you do is not buy a pumpkin 3 weeks before Halloween. I understood this basic fact of suburban living. The G did not.

Real world analogy: Say you buy a giant bag of Halloween-size boxes of Mike ‘n’ Ikes three weeks before the big day but open the package so you can have just one. Chances are that by the time the 31st rolls around, that junk is going to be gone. You should consider pumpkins as Mike N Ike’s for squirrels. (Full disclosure: we have about 3 boxes of Mike ‘n’ Ike’s left.)

I allowed the G to live with her mistake for a week while it slowly rotted on our steps. The squirrels got their fill after a few days and the mold and fruit flies moved in. On Monday it collapsed in on itself. Wednesday, it went into the trash. I refused to help. Laissez faire pumpkinomics.

I thought that was that. We all learned a valuable lesson. But this morning some wise guy squirrel took things to the next level. While walking the dog under a large tree, a chunk of pumpkin landed on my head. ON MY HEAD! Where I cut my hair and wear my giant pink helmet!

Escalation announcement received. I used to carry tennis balls around to alert squirrels before the dog could sneak up on them. If they weren’t paying attention, a quick shot across their bow would scare them up into tress. Not anymore. Every squirrel gets a ball, even if it’s already treed.

It's on.

*The former does not work. The latter supposedly does. But please wait until the hair spray is dry before illuminating the pumpkin. Unless you want things to get awesome and quick.

But in the nearer future, humans will evolve in 1,000 years into giants between 6ft and 7ft tall, he predicts, while life-spans will have extended to 120 years, Dr Curry claims.

Physical appearance, driven by indicators of health, youth and fertility, will improve, he says, while men will exhibit symmetrical facial features, look athletic, and have squarer jaws, deeper voices and bigger penises.

Women, on the other hand, will develop lighter, smooth, hairless skin, large clear eyes, pert breasts, glossy hair, and even features, he adds. Racial differences will be ironed out by interbreeding, producing a uniform race of coffee-coloured people.

However, Dr Curry warns, in 10,000 years time humans may have paid a genetic price for relying on technology.

Spoiled by gadgets designed to meet their every need, they could come to resemble domesticated animals.

Okay, I'm all about becoming a long-living all powerful giantess, but the first time I start to resemble BD and can chew on my own butt, that's grounds for suicide. Either that, or it's kind of awesome. I haven't decided yet.

Wednesday, October 24, 2007

The G: Please don't do that. One, they aren't funny. Two, didn't you once send me the link to 3 or 4 websites that already do that? And six: that's such a creepy old man hobby.

The N: Fine.

The G: ...

The N: I'm gonna start watching planes land!

* * *

The G: Can I be a drug dealer in Second Life and make a lot of money?

The N: Did you know in Second Life you can get baby unicorns?

The G: What. That's kind of awesome.

The N: Yeah but you have to do it with an adult unicorn first.

* * *

Hey so Spoon* was pretty good, non? Despite being a totally fucked up situation? There were maybe 17 people and my gramma there despite several assurances from Human @ 930 dot com that if you didn't get yr raggedy ass to the 930 before sundown, you were not going to see a show. But it was nice. My elbows all askew and not in anyone's ribcage, no one shoving or pouring beer in my shoes. Jumpy pointy guy was there. Fresh air and a fresh-faced kid who was so swooning adorable when Britt Daniel passed us on the corner on his way inside the venue, AMattos and I thought he might actually faint. Who are these earnest rock fans I keep running into at shows? I like it! Prompt opener, promptly on stage at 8:05, no witty banter, great set list that came from all over, and I was home by 10. Bizarro concert world for old people. I can dig it.

I did make brief pleasant small talk outside pre-show with DCeiver and another friend of BStretch's (who's name I can't remember now) about how I guess I was "rooting for Denver" now that Cleveland is out. Okay, right, Colorado. Not Denver. Noted. But now I've spent a good 25 minutes this morning trying to find out why some teams represent entire states (Arizona DBacks) and other's are simply city teams (O's, etc). I would think it has something to do with ownership or taxes or $$$ because everything has to do with those things - but the Rockie's are owned by a giant group, one of the biggest partners is an Ohio guy I think, and it was Denver CITY taxes that were raised for Coors Field? Basically, I'm dumb probably and this is a really simple answer, so enlighten me already. It took me a good 10 years to get the infield fly rule, and I still don't understand the physics of how planes fly, so let's keep it simple, shall we?

"I Could See the Dude""Utilitarian""Minor Tough""Fitted Shirt""Anything You Want""Me and the Bean""Small Stakes""The Way We Get By""Stay Don't Go""Jonathan Fisk""Back to the Life""The Beast and Dragon, Adored""The Delicate Place""I Summon You""Don't Make Me a Target""The Ghost of You Lingers""You Got Yr. Cherry Bomb""The Underdog""Black Like Me"Encore"Japanese Cigarette Case""Peace Like a River" (Paul Simon)"I Turn My Camera On""Don't You Evah""Rhythm and Soul""My Mathematical Mind")

Tuesday, October 23, 2007

He told us straight to our faces that he couldn’t play because his foot was paralyzed. Looked us right in the eyes and laughed his lying laugh. And then he hobbled off.

Fine. We don’t need you or your fake gimpy leg and pickle throwing arm. We had a quarterback who could lead us to 28-0 losses while throwing interceptions on every drive. And he was cut. We didn’t need two of them.

Now we have a new quarterback who’s only thrown one pick and it was a Hail Mary across his body moving the opposite way. But all was forgiven because he’s very handsome and has a great smile that makes the refs pick up their across-the-line-of-scrimmage flags even when he’s clearly three yards past the sticks.

I've stepped up my game enough that I will indeed be attending Spoon tonight (withthesefolks). My head still vaguely feels like it might pop off my body and start it's own orbital rotation around Earth (MOON HEAD!) but I can deal with it. No alcohol though. Show's over, people; the lights have been on for at least fifteen minutes. Clear the premises.

No other news. Listening to Dappled Cities. Making plans to bus up to NYC. Saw "Gone Baby Gone." Made a weird rice dish last night that looked like oatmeal and tasted like scorpion poison (you have led me stray for the last time, allrecipes.com!) Helping build Halloween costumes (yes, I said "build.") Curing leprosy. Etc.

Monday, October 22, 2007

I have hazy memories of talking absolute nonsense, and also stumbling pretty awesomely while on my way to said inside keg, which although drunk, I can still blame on an ankle that can't support my fat ass. Anyway, I didn't leave my room all day yesterday except to eat mashed potatoes and find the remote when I flipped it off the bed.

Also, I had a weird dream about Charles Bissell serving me grilled cheese in a Route 66 diner in Oklahoma.

Beyond that, people, I got nothing. Except I'm home sick from work today, which I don't think has anything to do with this past weekend. Unless one of you fuckers passed along a whopping case of meningitis. In which case, I totally hate you.

Friday, October 19, 2007

Catherine and I are hard at work at forming an all-girl noise band called the Drone Crones. The first order of business will, of course, be a self-released CD named Murder of Sluts. Credit where credit is due.

Wednesday, October 17, 2007

Ladies, we live in a society and society has rules and if we want to operate in this society we need to follow those rules. That means you can’t wander in off the street, all late in shit, hoping to get cauliflower ear or that staph infection that kills high school kids and not expect to get locked the fuck out.

I don't have anything to blog about because besides driving to work, I haven't left my house since Sunday. We've been cooking actual meals and going to bed at reasonable elderhostelesque hours. All is calm-n-copasetic in the Pyggie household, save for the taste of rage I get every time I see a squirrel. Those little bastards are dead to me. BD is not doing his job protecting my hastily-purchased-afterthought H'ween decorations.

Lesse, how much more boring can I make myself sound. I recently bought a hat that makes me look like a young female Mao Zedong, without the whole being Asian thing. I got a new laptop @ work and now am farting around on Vista. I need new music recommendations to download (no donkey electronica) so I can stop listening to the same ridiculous choices I made while on the Vic a few weeks ago (NO SERIOUSLY YOU GUYS who downloaded ALL THIS TOAD THE WET SPROCKET) The D. IM'd me yesterday all upset because she had a dream that Jeff Tweedy died. At some point this past weekend, I made mention of how maybe I'd like to learn to play tennis and everyone took me seriously. I'm doing yoga tonight and I might die??????

- PEOPLE. Cleveland is sooo going to clinch this thing, and then my loyalties will be split. Do I root for Colorado and the awesomeness that is Matt Holliday, or do I stick with Mr. Blake and therefore incur some serious text message wrath from rabid-Rockies-fanatic-friend Brian? I only know anything about CR because of his foaming at the mouth, anyways. Choices, choices. Also seriously factoring into my decision: the name "Jhonny." I think the way to decide this is to go back to the salary listings, and I will simply root for whichever team has the lesser payroll. Additionally, courtesy ILB: I seriously can't stand Dane Cook. *

- stupidest thing I've seen this morning. This single photo made me stupid-er in 5 seconds of glancation than watching an entire season of "Rock of Love." I don't think the previous sentence is even CLOSE to being gramatically correct, that's how stupid I now am.

- I have it on good authority that "Puppy Bowl" is being filmed right now and that the puppies have like, bodyguards.

* (and while we're discussing baseball, let's revisit this awesome quote from former White Sox (now with, according to Wikipedia, the Long Island Ducks) Carl Everett circa 2005ish or so: "God created the sun, the stars, the heavens and the earth, and then made Adam and Eve," Everett said last Friday, before the Red Sox lost two of three in Atlanta. "The Bible never says anything about dinosaurs. You can't say there were dinosaurs when you never saw them. Someone actually saw Adam and Eve. No one ever saw a Tyrannosaurus rex." YAY CARL EVERETT GREATEST AMERICAN HERO!

Tuesday, October 16, 2007

Arrrghhhh, flashback re: these pieces of shit. I lived in a basement FULL of these effers for a year of my life. The N. thought they would jump into his gaping maw as he snored slept; thus, he blames their presence on why he never (ever) drove out to the wilds of Fairfax to stay at my house. And explains how I put 8 million commuter miles on my ever-breaking-down Volvo that year. I drove 66 twice a day for 365+ days, added on to my typical daily work commute. Pain. In. My. Asshole.

I blame his absence not on the cricket infestation, but on his sheer laziness and the fact that I catered to his every dude whim. Man, girls are chumps. I mean, even after I moved 2 miles away from him in the ARL (a house which involved infestations of other sorts: fleas, rats, a possum in the chimney, woodpeckers in the living room; i may have mentioned this 10000X before on the internet) I still had to sleep my ass at his grody boy-house every night.

But then a few years later we got married and that catering bullshit stopped immediately. Right? Right. Or something. I did take the dog for a walk this morning (first time in a month). Wife of the year!

Update on the mousepad situation: Sommer has found me a clear frontrunner. It involves Ghost Casey Novak (she's transparent!)

Monday, October 15, 2007

Nerds of the online universe, I need yr help. I am in the market for a new mousepad. I have special requirements.

I am disgusting and eat at my desk and live in filth and germs and food particles. I don't wash my hands or wrists enough, apparently, if you'd see my once-white custom mousepad that the N. made me for my bday one year ("Vance Refrigeration - We Make Scranton a Cool Place to Live!")

1 - Nothing Disney. I suffered here at Current Workplace with a Disney mousepad for quite some time (the person who had my job before me loved Dumbo [?] and I was too lazy to replace it), and I can't do that to myself again.

2- Nothing light colored (reference above reasons)

3- I would consider a custom-made something, but I'm lazy so it can't be too diificult. Also, it can't be fabric (see #2, see above description of filthy work environment, etc.)

4- I do occasionally find great things on Etsy, but that A) site is so freakishly overwhelming sometimes, I don't even know where to begin; and B) SO. TWEE. And C) I hate wading through crap to get to the few real gems (I'm referencing jewelry here mostly, but you know what I mean. why does everyone in the universe make beaded stuff? stop.) There are a few awesome mousepads on there (i like the whistling octopus one) but I think, again, these are made of fabric. Sigh.

5- Ideally, you will find me a vinyl, wipeable, Law & Order SVU mousepad. *

Go forth, Internet, and bring me something suitable.

(* Found thus far on Ebay: "Property of Christopher Meloni XXL" teeshirt, several scanned photos/articles on CM from a gay publication, this, and my current favorite: "Stabler Bucks." Awesome. The only Chris Meloni mousepad for sale is indeed pretty sexy, but uses Comic Sans as a font and that's just not something I can abide by. Remember people: there are rules that go along witht his mousepad purchase.)

I’m sure everyone has some cherished memory about grandma and Bob Barker/Price Is Right so I won’t bother with the boring yakety-yack about my old babysitter and why she and barker are the reason that I was terrified of Pope John Paul II when I was 5. But since today is Drew Carey’s first day, I figure he’s fair game.

The set: All the games are designed the same but the curtains hiding the prizes are now actively retro instead of just looking retro because they’re old. Big shapes of similar colors, disorienting flashing light, Boise State blue astro-turf on just about every surface. Standard PIR interior decorating.

Production: Did the director and cameramen retire too? They couldn’t find the new contestants when their names were called, one camera shot another camera and several times you could see backstage. Let’s tighten it up, fellas.

Carey: He’s a comedian so he’s funnier on the fly but he did a terrible job explaining what was going on with the rules. If you weren’t familiar with the games you would have had no idea how to play. For instance, Carey didn’t go over the rules of The Hiking Werner Von Trapp game, which is arguably the most complicated, until he had already asked the contestant for her first guess. And during the wheel spin, one guy walked away before he was done because Carey didn’t explain that his first spin didn’t count since it didn’t go all the way around.

He also needs to take more control of the contestants. One guy wandered off to see the new car up close before the game started and Carey’s Cuties or whatever they call the models had to shoo him away. Another woman was jumping up and down so much after winning $16,000 that she bit it on the shiny white floor and nearly broke her tailbone.

The whole show: Everyone who got called up on stage won so it looks like Carey pitched a prefect first game. In fact, the first lady to spin the wheel won $1000 so up to that point they had given away every possible dollar the producers could afford. And if the lady with the broken tail bone sues, she could walk away with more than just a new hot tub.

Bottom line: If Drew keeps the poop jokes to a minimum, things she be smooth sailing for grandma and hospital waiting rooms.

My weekend was fine, thanks for asking. I wore an orange sweater totally not on purpose, and then looked like the million and half other 19 year olds who attendyourfootballgames. Also, question: who wears ties to a sporting event, unless your own damn coach makes you and you are a freshman in high school and the administration is trying to impart some wisdom on class/make sure you grow into being a semi-responsible member of society? And uh, seersucker? And dresses? Jesus christ, people.

Otherwise, I laughed my ass off as my husband attended his first baby shower (swear to god). I suck at Mexican Golf, or whatever the game that E&K made up is called. It involves golfball nunchucks and PVC pipe. I played with a dog who was almost as cute as mine and 3x as well behaved.

Also we saw a sheephearding dog trial, which was great, and not just because people there were wearing fleece and dirty jeans. Now THAT is what you wear to a sporting event.

I have scored a Spoon ticket after my premature/immediate return of original tix because I was mad about the MPP mixup. Let this be a lesson - don't let emotions cloud yr concert judgement like that, people.

Also, yesterday I cleaned out three closets. There is nothing like spending the weekend at some hyper-organized friend's house (matching curtains and bedding? guest soap?) to make one realize that one lives like a frat boy.

In other news, baseball baseball baseball. That's kind of all I want to talk about. It was rainy and cold in Denver last night; Cleveland won thanks to Casey Blake's hottness, I think (a friend and i determined this weekend that one Mr. Casey Blake has a fine looking beard, and would be really good at the following: canoeing, chopping wood, living in Maine, eating Ben and Jerry's, and giving us ladies sexy piggy back rides through fall landscapes. Call me, Casey Blake!)

Friday, October 12, 2007

Ordering a new pair of glasses online seemed like a good idea. I am blind, so so so blind I never wear glasses because it takes two full days for my eyes to adjust to the different kinds of focusing you have to do with glasses vs. my precious contacts. Also, glasses make delicate pale flesh behind my ears hurt. Also, I look like Hans Moleman.

It has taken over a month to get my goddamn order to be taken off hold. For a variety of reasons, first and foremost me being a moron who apparently can't measure her face correctly. Did you know your face needs to be measured for glasses? I guess I kind of knew it? But didn't think about it. And then every time said online retailer tried to inform me my measurements were wrong and my face is probalby not 2" wide, unless I am a Little or something, their emails went into spam filterland.

My final email was a bit curt. My bad, spammy online spectacle retailer. But according to cheapoglassesforsociallyawkwardhermits dotcom, as of yesterday, my glasses are in the post. Did they cost the promised $39 dollars? No internet, no they did not. They cost 75 bucks or so because I am special needs. but whatever. At least I don't have to go to Costco and partake of/in actual human interaction.

in other news: i've spent today planning fake vacations for the next three years of my life and eating sushi. i find in rainbows boring, i've downloaded a bunch of MP3s from morningside recently, and we're spending this weekend in Charlottesville reliving... someone's else youth. I didn't go to UVA.

Thursday, October 11, 2007

At this point, any scheme designed to establish a new professional football league can be scientifically characterized as wolf-face crazy. But you know what? They may be on to something with this All-American Football League. I’m officially intrigued.

There’d be six teams, each of which is made up exclusively of alumni of powerhouse colleges who couldn’t crack the NFL. Michigan, Texas, Tennessee, Florida, Arkansas, and Alabama. Games in the spring, played either on the campus or nearby. Basically, a college an All-Star league

I didn’t go to a school with a respectable sports program and usually pay little attention to college football so I’ll probably stick with the NFL. But there is certainly an existing fan base large enough for this to work. I imagine other schools would be eager to join too, especially if it’s not an XFL* level debacle after the first kickoff. And I’m sure while the actual universities can’t be official sponsors, there’s no reason to be against it.

Wednesday, October 10, 2007

Someone I trust on this whole deal described it as “kinda boring” and “droney electronica.”

Of course, I read that as “donkey electronica” and was suddenly very excited. Finally a Radiohead album I can get behind. Plus, donkey electronica is one of those google searches that get exactly one result.

Tuesday, October 09, 2007

The D and I misrepresented ourselves on Saturday and weaseled our way into the Green Festival at the DC Convo Center. It was kinda like the Army show that Milbank went to in the Post except a million percent opposite. Instead of foamy stress relieving hand grenades, kindly elderly ladies handed out free bags of dirt. Well, technically they were bags of compost. But if it had been me sitting at that exhibit I’d have yelled “Hey dirtbag!” to anyone walking by and if they turned, I’d have chucked it ‘em. Actually, I went through a phase of doing that when I was in elementary school but I didn’t bother putting the dirt into easily recyclable paper bags.

Being green is something I’m 100% behind when I don’t have to do anything that is more expensive than not being green. For instance, I passed on the $210 solar powered meesenger bag/cell phone charger. I’m also not really on board if it means doing something gross like drinking coffee that comes from beans that goats poop out. But if being green means being delicious and eating pounds of Real Raw Honey on Triscuits, then I say OK!

Going in I was sorta in the market for some new eco-friendly apparel. But who would have thought that retailers at a green living trade show would have had an agenda? Although most of the clothes were soft and supple to the touch (even the normally scratchy hemp-wear) every single article had some sort of pro-dirt/anti-Hummer message. In fact, other than the Pink Ladies railing against war, every booth had some sort of anti-Hummer message. If you wear these beads made from paper or use this giant solar array to cook ramon noodles or give the guy in the Ranger Rick costume a hug then you will offset ten minutes of Hummer driving. And in the off the chance that a t-shirt did have something non-Hummer related on it, then it had some huge ugly website address printed all over it.

Can’t a guy be pro-environment and wear irreverent T-shirts singing the accolades of 1930’s flamboyant bonne vivante actresses and not have a message?

I could talk at length about my weekend, but summing the whole experience up in a neat little package:

the visitors center in Mt. Airy, NC provides not only a wealth of information re: local bluegrass festivals, but also is a (free!) museum dedicated to Donna Fargo, Chang and Eng, Andy Griffith, and duck decoy woodcarving.

*If you’ve ever driven to the Outer Banks from any point north then you’ve passed the Blackwater HQ in North Carolina. It’s in Moyock, one of the first towns you hit driving across the border from Virginia. Their main campus building is visible from the road but most folks can’t see it because of the advanced cloaking technology they employ.

The radio and the web logs were both atwitter this morning because some condos in Old Town Alexandria were being auctioned off at reduced rates. Something like $100,00 below the normal price. That sounds like an amazing deal. And it would be great to have some new neighbors in Alexandria. Unfortunately, the group running the auction is using an incredibly liberal use of the tag “Old Town.”

Let’s consider that the Banana Republic at the corner of King and Washington Streets is the center of Alexandria. Let’s also say I live in this advertised Parkside at Alexandria and need a new flowing A-line skirt in a grey soft wool-blend flannel for a business/casual dress rehearsal dinner I’m attending Friday. That should be no problem since I live in Old Town, right?

Almost. Google Earth says Parkside is a little over 4 miles away from the BR, as the crow files. But don’t think I’m not going to pull the same stunt now when we sell out place since we’re 3 miles away. Hell, we live on the waterfront. In the Torpedo factory even! Also, George Washington wrote the Articles of Confederation in our guest bedroom.

Friday, October 05, 2007

Unlike Tom, I’m an early adopter of razor technologies. In my 16 years of face shaving I’ve used a single, double, double/medicated aloe strip, triple, triple/medicated aloe strip, vibrating triple medicated aloe strip, quadruple, quintuple and quintuple + 1 bladed razors. The hidden cameras that Gillette installed in my bathroom picked up on this recently, so they sent me their latest 5 bladed model for free.

I tried it but when the single complimentary cartridge wore out, I didn’t buy any replacement. Both 4 and 5 bladed razors are too much for my fair face. Plus they are to expensive. I know these are sharpened pieces of steel, honed to their finest edges by sexiest Gillette scientists miles below the surface in underground caves. But there is a tipping point when it comes to how many pieces of metal should be dragged across your delicate face.

That number is 3. Someday they will stop making my tri-blades and kids will mock me for using anything less then 12. And by kids, I mean Tom.

1. If I wasn't still pissed about the Great Blowout of 2002 I partook in with their circulation department (I am all for supporting music businesses / mags / publications / whatevblahs, but their shit was being run by benzodiazepine'd-out sloths back then), now would be the time where I might mention in passing the bands announced for CMJfest this year.

2. I am hitting the road for NC with my folks at the asscrack of light tomorrow AM. My husband, intelligent man, is not partaking in/of this little adventure. So far, the trip outline is centered mostly on alcohol availability, as is my family's MO. With a healthy sidetrip to Mayberry. Yes, I'm sitting in the backseat of my folks car for 8 hours just to go drink in Mayberry. I feel 15 again!

The first time my mom tells me "I'm such a pretty girl, but I should really start wearing my hair out of my face", I'm calling quits.

Wednesday, October 03, 2007

Courtesy CatAn's IM notification of "guess what's playing on WOXY right now go listen!"... I just downloaded the Wren's cover of REM's Nightswimming. For those of you who're fans of both, and such. ("stereogum's drive XV - an automatic for the people tribute"). May I also recommend Dappled Cities "Try Not to Breathe." Probably anyone/thing could cover that song and I'd still get teary, tho.

Now if I can only find copies of when Charles Bissell was covering Okkervil River (in concert in DC, I think the last time I saw them???), I'm set. Set for... something.

Tuesday, October 02, 2007

So, in an hour i get to go home and undergo some sort of V.I.P. torture therapy, written out in bubble handwriting by my physical therapist, who when he was charged with simply FMFUB (fixing my fucked up back) I liked, and now have decided: hey big blonde swimmer PT guy, why do you want to make me cry? I cannot believe I have to go spend an hour of my life alternating between boiling buckets of lava hot water and ice slush just to get swelling down (why is it still swelling 3 weeks later? I DON'T KNOW. Because i am old and injuries don't heal fast anymore? Because I might not have any ligaments left? Because I'm a giant whiny baby who wants to wear shoes to work again, so she doesn't have to bear the judgemental under-the-breath-on-the-sidewalk wrath of certain K St lawresses [lawtrixes?]-n-interns, pieces of crap in their d'orsay heels* and pencil skirts, who look at my flip-slops and limp with some sort of mega-disdain? listen, Project Bitchway: My foot's broken. from kicking somone's ass when they made a comment about "how ugly flip-flops are and esp. in October OMG." Kindly Fuck. Off. I'm hurt, and i hate you) on the top of my foot. I could be somewhere doing something important tonight, like drinking. A lot. At a bar. Or walking the dog, which I haven't done in a month now and I'm pretty certain that fact alone is leading to imminent divorce, since the dog's had runny craps for 3 nights straight. Probably from eating trash. That I probably left out.

Also, my calf is all crampy and fucked up from overcompensating and standing for hours at concerts. Which maybe I shouldnt do anymore. (CRIES)

Have I mentioned that in about a month, I'm off to watch my one of my closest friends run a marathon and I'm gonna be the fat one taking taxis to meet up with her at certain milemarkers? Because, yes. Maybe I'll use a cane. I'm like that one lady doctor who used to be on ER, except not a doctor.

Here's the lesson in all of this: don't sprain your ankle. It sounds like the fucking wussiest injury ever, right? Even to me, I type it and then make fun of myself. But then here we are, aren't we.

* i only know this word from catalogs. thank you j. crew, always getting mailed to my house even though i havent bought anything but bridesmaid dresses from you since the late 90s.

The conversation in which The G learned her daily nugget about moonshine was related to an earlier one where several people were discussing their hillbilly cred. You can help decide who among us is the heir to the Brotherhood of the Crimson Nape’s vast NASCAR fortune.

When Subject A visits his/her family he/she discovers this:

It’s exactly what it says it is.

When subject B’s spouse dies, he/she claims, “I’m going to take the money from your insurance policy and get new boobs. Just like my grandmother.”

When Subject C and his/her spouse have children, theirs will be the first born in wedlock. The child will have 22 bastard cousins.

187 text messages later from my friend B, completely flipping out about his beloved Colorado, we finally had to go to sleep. It was the 11th inning and it was getting BORING, y'alls. Walk, strike out, walk, strike out. Etc. 8-8 forevs. The only fun part was every time Khalil Greene would come up to the plate, so I could start quoting Fast Times at Ridgemont High again and annoy the everliving shit out of my husband. Obviously, we gave up to soon, since Jamey Carroll and his boys came back to win in the 13th or something ridiculous like that, according to SportsCenter. Also: holy crap, the goatees. It was Battle for the Playoffs: Facial Hair. Giles vs. Helton.

Monday, October 01, 2007

The following email went into my spam folder so I missed it until it was too late.

Dear Suburbs,

So. You want to put giant potholes in our roads and make our cops work overtime and not dedicate funding for our Metro and fill our hippest neighborhoods with d-bag college drunks eating slices of pizzas larger than their faces? And then not pay a commuter tax? Fine. Then we’re going to shut down all the bridges and most of the roads for some second-rate triathlon. Then we’re going to allow every group to have their fair or festival or symposium in honor of their heritage or books so even if you do make across the river it’ll take you an hour to drive 4 blocks and there will be no parking. Plus, there will be 100,000 people enjoying free walking tours all over town so forget about turning at any intersection. We hope you have fun this weekend not getting to where you want to go.

Kind regards,

The District

That was pretty much the deal on Saturday. There were two things I wanted to do: play flag football and eat loads of fried fish. The first was stone cold canceled because of the triathlon. Boo. But its totally understandable since both my football league and any other public athletic event in the District (outside the Marine Corps marathon) is atrociously run. However, I figured that my friends 3rd annual fish fry at 2pm would be safe.

Not the case. It took an hour-thirty to get to his place near National Cathedral – a trip that should take about 20 minutes. BOOOOO.

On the flip side, it was Cathedral Day. I left the party with about 5 pounds of fried pike in my stomach and thought it would be a good idea to climb the 7 flights up to the observation level of the Cathedral. You think meat sweats are bad. I almost threw up on the grave of Edgar Allen Poe or Sir Walter Raleigh or Gerald Ford or whoever is buried in the crypts of National Cathedral.

There was some pretty neat stuff. But the best part was the guy with the telescope pointed at the Vader gargoyle. I’d always heard that it was up there but never had binoculars when I was nearby. Plus I assumed it was huge. It’s not. It’s a little guy. And it’s way the hell up there.

The above shot was brought to you by science. Just stick the lens of your $200 digital camera into the eyepiece of a $3000 telescope and you get a pretty clear picture.

catan: i needed to leave for a minute. everyone in there is tall, hot, and nutsthe g: ... and not in a good way.

Show last night was fantastic, even if it was ass-to-crotch crowded, 1000 degrees, and the RnR Hotel was smelling vaguely of cauliflower. At least their sound is decent. OR's set was awesome- a great mix of old and new, and they didn't play "Red" even after 80 or so drunkards screamed out for it, which is good because I'm sick of that song. Their "Westfall" was bizonkers. The shortest, most excited Asian OR fanboy ever * stood next to me and sang precisely along to every single lyric, which made me happy cause I spotted him earlier beggin for tix outside. I witnessed family members drinking beer and out til midnight on a Sunday (babysitters of the suburbs, lemme hear you holla). I met an internet dude both Catherine and I were previously convinced didn't actually exist in real life. I didn't drink that much, so I am functioning this morning.

Oh, also at pre-show beers-n-sandwiches, we learned several kind of adorable anecdotes about damian jurado's kid AND that the world is really small (esp. when Austin, TX is concerned.) Everyone knows everyone.

All in all, great night. In conclusion, my foot hurts. Completely unrelated: I seriously can't believe I missed the Long Winters a few months ago. God, stupid.

* (K: can we talk about that kid?me: HAHAHHA. I LOVED HIM KIND OFK: i was trying to describe him and his friend to K&J - did you hear when he yelled out 'that was ABSURD!!!"me: ha. no?K: and then his friend turned to him and said "YOU'RE absurd"K: he was great."THE SNARE!!!! THE SNARE!!! if we cover this song, we HAVE to do the SNARE!"that kid can die happy now.)